Being a vegetarian is extra special, at least at the Mongolian Restaurant we visited during a trip to the United States.
Some people are not quite enthusiastic about the food supplied by airlines on international flights. My husband and I have travelled nearly a dozen times to the U.S., by different airlines, and food was never a problem for us, except for the criterion that it should be vegetarian. In fact I have enjoyed being served first, before the food cart rolled in for the others.
During one of our trips, one leg of the flight itinerary was operated by a well-known airline that was in the news for all the wrong reasons at that time. It was facing flak from the media for having forcibly disembarked a passenger with a confirmed ticket, having overbooked.
We had just boarded one of their flights, settled in our seats and buckled up, ready for the 10-hour journey ahead. Then I saw one of the flight stewards coming straight towards us. My heart started pounding: any problem? He stopped near us and courteously whispered (I must admit they were going the extra mile to win back their reputation): “Vegetarians?” I heaved a sigh of relief and smiled. “Yes”.
And the piece de resistance came in the form of special treatment at a Mongolian restaurant during our last trip to the U.S. We were in a resort and we used to select a restaurant that offered some exotic food. So there we were one day, in a Mongolian restaurant.
It was a small restaurant catering to tourists, and its delicacies boasted of a distinct flavour from their exotic variety of sauces. They served noodles and jasmine rice along with their native special sauces and sautéed vegetables or other poultry/meat products.
The cut vegetables were in trays on one side, the sauces were on another side, and the non-vegetarian stuff on yet another side... our job was to pick our favourites and hand it over to the chef. A bowl was given to each one and we, as vegetarians, had yellow bowls while all else had purple bowls; we took our vegetables, poured from the limited varieties of vegetarian sauces and joined the queue waiting to hand over the bowls to the chef.
The area where the chefs were engaged in their tasks was a sight to watch… the flurry of activity, the non-stop clanking and clattering of dishes, the precision and deftness with which they worked, and their cheerful countenance. (One of them had his birthday that day and they stopped for a few minutes and sang Happy Birthday.)
There was a large circular tawa in the middle and about a dozen chefs were standing around.
Each one had a section of the tawa earmarked for him and they received the filled bowls, sauteed the fillings, added noodles or rice and other spices and handed over the dish. This was going on relentlessly on a rotational basis.
We were standing almost at the end of the queue. One of the chefs noticed our yellow bowls (we were the odd ones out in the queue), and waved at us to come to the front. I hesitated.... jumping queues is the norm in India, not here. But the young man kept calling us. Everyone in the queue looked back at us and moved aside, giving way.
The young man asked us to wait, went up to his place, scrubbed and washed his portion of the tawa with some liquid, wiped it clean, took out two fresh sterilised plates and spatulas, wiped them with paper towels, came to me and showed the fresh plates and spatula and then took our bowls. He then sautéed them in brisk motions, mixed the noodles/jasmine rice, put them on to the plates and handed them over to us with the satisfied look of a job done well.
I had least expected this kind of treatment, and needless to say, I was really impressed and muttered to him, “Thank you, I appreciate that”. And he gave me a wide, happy grin.
newshara@yahoo.com
